Need
by Jellicos
Summary: What happens when you break the unspoken rules of the game? CJKate femslash.


_Disclaimer:__ I own nothing, the characters are the sole property of Aaron Sorkin and David Wells, I am merely kidnaping them and corrupting them into depravity for my own amusement._

_Feedback is much appreciated and well rounded critizism is gold:)_

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You're not sure how it happened, how a quick briefing about the submarines outside the coast of Korea resulted in this. But as her back slams against the wall of your office, with a force that makes her whimper into your mouth, you decide these are thoughts for another time.

"C.J." She moans your name just so, and you feel something within you snap.

"Quiet." You scold her, knowing your nosy secretary isn't the only one that could hear you.

"Oh god…"

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"Hey, do you know any cute single men?" It was an odd way to start a conversation; at least he had the decency to avoid your gaze.

"Tired of living on the straight edge, Charlie?" You ask him, just to make him a little bit more uncomfortable.

"I accidentally set Kate Harper up with her ex husband and now I need to make amends." He explains with a sigh, seemingly not thrilled with the idea.

"You know she's been trained by both the US Navy and the CIA." You inform him, because you do love to see him squirm. Also, the thought has a strange arousing notion to it, but you tend to avoid going there.

"My point exactly." He mutters as he takes his leave, a huge stack of folders appearing on your desk in his wake.

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It may have started there, you think, as your lips find the spot under the corner of her jaw and you hungrily suck the skin into your mouth, smirking as you feel her shiver and gasp. Yes, this could all be Charlie's fault for putting the idea in your head. It seems like a better explanation than the alternatives you don't really want to contemplate on. Like how everything you've been doing for the past year has been leading up to this moment.

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"Is there a rescue mission He needs to sign off on?" You ask, moving from your chair to stand in front of your desk, because for some reason you find it better to stand when discussing lives at stake.

"No rescue mission." She says and you furrow your brow, not understanding what she's saying. You don't like to ask questions about military strategies, you think the staff in uniform already disapproves of you for not knowing enough for the job you have. But Kate has yet to give you that look of discontent, so you take your chances.

"Why not?" She looks down at her hands as you ask, and you feel paranoid to think she does it to hide that very look.

"The submarine is in North Korean waters." She explains and you let your eyes rest for just a hint of a second on the little tear in her pantyhose.

"So what do we do?" You ask, looking up to see that if she did notice, she's not giving it away.

"We wait." She shrugs one shoulder, her curls bouncing slightly from the motion and you start to wonder if she does this on purpose like those low cut tops she's been wearing lately.

You sigh and nod you head, tearing your eyes away from the patch of skin between her breasts that isn't as covered as you wished it was.

"Charlie was in here asking if I knew any cute men to set you up with." You change the subject because there isn't anything more to say, looking up at her through the strands of brown falling in your face because your head is still lowered. It's something you do because it's adorable, and you do it now because her eyes just flickered over your bare legs. It's the game you two play, pretending not to notice, making sure no one else ever does. It's a dangerous game, you have everything to lose and so does she. Maybe that's part of the thrill.

"He's not allowed to set me up again." She tells you as she crosses her legs. You know you're stretching the unspoken agreement of this game when you let your gaze slide the length of her leg. It's not supposed to be more than the occasional aesthetic appreciation, and you're not sure why you insist on taking this just a little bit further this time. You've never done it before, not during all this time you two have been working side by side. You always stick to the rules of the game.

"Because he set you up with your ex?" You ask and she nods her answer. "How come you've never told me you where married?" It's merely curiosity, there are a lot of things you don't know about each other.

"Never came up." She replies and shifts in her chair as you lean forward just ever so slightly and her eyes droop down into the to her newly exposed valley between your breasts. "Twice actually." She continues after clearing her throat and you smile.

"Twice what?" You ask, noticing how she tries to tear her eyes from you.

"I've been married twice." She elaborates and you find that you no longer care what she's talking about, your gaze following the delicate curve of her hip.

You blame Charlie, you blame her low cut tops or the crew on the submarine trapped in enemy waters. You do this because you don't want to acknowledge that itch in your fingers or the warm tingle in the lower regions of your torso.

"You need to stop." Her voice is low and as you look up at her, her eyes is just a hint darker than they usually are.

"Stop what?" You ask innocently, your eyes darting back to her cleavage simply to gage her reaction.

"Don't…" She warns and you eyes widen slightly as she stands, only a step away from you and you can no longer ignore the itching of your skin or how your mouth is fabricating the taste of hers.

"Why not?" You ask as you take a step towards her, grinning as she takes one back.

"C.J." She breathes your name and you can see her resistance fading, noticing briefly how it edges you on. But she doesn't seem to have a specific reason, because she doesn't speak again. Talking is highly overrated anyway and you take pride in how her breath hitches as you start walking towards her, your grin reaching your eyes as she keeps the distance between you by moving backwards.

"You know I could kill you with my bare hands." Her statement is to discourage you realise, but the twisted part of your mind is sending a warm sensation down your body at her words.

"Don't make me call the agents in here." Your threat is just as hollow as hers was and she shows that she knows this by stopping, only a few inches from the wall. Her face is serious and somewhat resentful as you tear you gaze from her chest to see it.

"C.J., you know we can't…" Her words are threatening to bring logic and common sense to your mind again, so you decide to shut her up, giving in to the annoying itch you've been stuck with for months.

As her back slams against the wall, with a force that makes her whimper into your mouth, you decide to save common sense for another time.

"C.J." She moans your name just so, and you wonder what manoeuvres will bring that sound back.

"Quiet." You scold her, because Margret has uncanny hearing and you're currently feeling up the Deputy NSA against the wall of your office.

"Oh god…" She shivers and gasps as your lips find the spot under the corner of her jaw and you hungrily suck the skin into your mouth, smirking as she wraps her arms around you. But then her hand snakes under your shirt and all thought is gone along with the control you thought you had as you realise that the next strangled moan isn't hers but yours.

"I told you to stop." The words only register with you when her hand is removed from your shirt and the void in front of you alerts you of her escape. When the fog clears enough from your mind, you notice your door is ajar and her absence is painfully pliable in the room.

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_Thank you for reading!:)_


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